Day 5 & 6 Deserted beaches, Green beans and ghostly presence

Hello my lovelies,

I went quiet after Day 5. Despite promising myself I’d find something fun to write about, I was completely drained after the deep shadow work around my mum and the ghostly happenings in the night. I felt mentally and physically spent.

And then came the familiar wave that hits whenever I share something personal: I press “publish,” re-read it, and think “oh my god, what have you done? Nobody wants to read this, you oversharing idiot.” The anxiety floors me—yet still, I write. Because even though it’s complicated, it helps me. We human beans really are curious creatures.

Healing—whether emotional, spiritual, or physical—requires rest. When we release something heavy, it’s a bit like undergoing surgery: the harmful bit removed, but leaving us tender, tired, and needing care.

So on Day 5 I listened to my soul. I felt lightheaded and wiped out, so I kept things gentle: breakfast, coffee, writing, yoga, a little pottering, lunch with Anja and Storm, and later a swim before heading home by early evening.

One thing I’m learning here is to enjoy my own company. At home, I always need background noise to drown out the chatter in my head. Here, I’m learning to sit in silence—uncomfortable as it is—and let thoughts drift through. The air feels magical, the warm evening breeze sweeping away the cobwebs in my mind. I’m working on balancing the Element of Air.

That Thursday evening, sitting on the terrace, I had a video call with my beloved soul sister, Ginette. She has an incredible intuition and had sensed I was feeling low. Almost as soon as we connected, she said: “You’re not alone—there’s a woman standing behind you.” No human was there, of course, but perhaps a spirit—the same presence responsible for the footsteps and flickering lights the night before. Was it my mum? Thelma, whose house this is? I don’t know. But I felt reassured, not afraid. Spirits don’t scare me; the living can be far more dangerous.

Day 6 began with an early start: house cleaned, yoga done, and a sense of strength. Anja and Storm picked me up for a road trip through the mountains to a secluded beach.

Girls Road Trip

Please excuse my finger in the video below—I don’t know how to remove it, but I wanted to show you just how untouched this part of Greece really is.

The beach was practically deserted: turquoise water, great company, and the kind of peace you can only find in hidden places.

Afterwards, we lunched at a quiet little taverna in Tavari before stopping at a small chapel. There, I lit candles for my mum, my son Benjamin—whose anniversary is next week—my Aunt Kath and Uncle Reg, and my dear friend Pete who's birthday is today.

Back home, after a siesta, I finally indulged in something I’d been longing to do: cook. I learnt to cook in Greece over 40 years ago, and so many of my family’s favourite dishes come from here. That night I made fasolakia, a green bean dish I adore—tomatoes grated by hand, herbs and garlic from Anja’s garden, prepared with love and intention. Cooking is one of my love languages, and although I often only cook for others, I’m learning it can be an act of self-love too. With Northern Soul blasting and a solo kitchen disco, it felt grounding and joyful.

Later, determined not to hide away, I scrubbed up, threw on a bit of slap, and headed out. Isla Bonita at the far end of Scala beach was perfect—chilled vibe, gorgeous décor, and mojitos that were frankly too good.

From there, I wandered back to Rock Ink, Stacey’s bar (where my workshops will be held) for a few more mojitos.

Sadly, Stacey and her girlfriend have recently been subjected to bullying and threats from a homophobic, misogynistic neighbour. The night before had seen things escalate, and tonight many of us women will stand with them if needed. Hopefully it won’t come to a fight, but in a place that celebrates diversity and equality, this man’s behaviour is disgraceful.

Still, I actually stayed out until 1:30am—like a proper grown-up—and slept blissfully until mid-morning. I’m still in my pyjamas as I type this at 1pm, and I’m not remotely bothered. Writing this makes me feel a slight pressure to be more “interesting,” but honestly, I’ve still got three weeks here. There’s plenty of time for that.

Writing is cathartic. I hope that by sharing openly about my healing journey, it resonates with some of you—or at least doesn’t put too many to sleep!

Thank you, as always, for reading.

Bright blessings and much love,

Bex xx